Requiem
by Poxy Kirkman
Summary: Empty sound, a mourning knell. Mute and dull, like broken bells. This is the beginning of the end for Logan, and his brother wants to know why it came to this. One shot.


Hey, so this is a one shot... a long one. I hope you like it, and for the record I do not own Fable, nor any Lionhead franchise, because if I did I'd proably not be on fanfiction now, would I? ;D

The first line at the top there, that bit of poetry... I did it :)

Please review

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**_'Empty sound, a mourning knell._**  
**_Mute and dull, like broken bells.'_**

His brother, despite everything he himself had inflicted upon the boy in the last few months, had had the compassion and grace to allow him to stay in his room on house arrest. But he wasn't a boy any more now, was he?

Sleep alluded him, and while he allowed insomnia to grip him and keep his mind restless and worried, he'd taken to staring out of the window which gave him a not so pleasant view of Bowerstone. In the early hours of the morning there should have been little to see, especially as the glass was streaked with rain. But alas, the revolution, rebellion, that god damned apostasy he'd forced the people of Albion to take against the crown – namely him – had set a third of the city aflame and even in the darkness of the night, with the rain teeming down, he could see the homes of hundreds of his people collapsed in a pile of rubble and ash and flame. He could see the streets illuminated with that deathly orange glow as people small as ants from his eagle eye view ran back and forth trying to put it out.

So whereas he should be looking into the reflection of his gaunt grey face, his cheeks sallow and sickly, his eyes darkened with years of burden and the weight of his country on his shoulders, he was looking down at the terror that had been unleashed on the innocents of Albion because of him. All because of him.

A sharp rapping at the door brought him grudgingly back to reality, where he was faced with the prospect of his death as a punishment for his crimes against Albion. The person did not wait to be allowed entrance, but simply walked in, looking just as tired and discontent as he felt. Logan would not have recognised his brother had he seen him on the streets for a passing second, and it shocked him to the very core when he kicked the doors down to the war room with Walter and stood proud and erect with his sword in hand. His normally short and tidy hair had grown long and straggly, not unlike their fathers' had been when he'd been an adventurer, whereas in stark contrast to the mess of hair atop his head he'd grown quite a neat and tidy beard and moustache, making him look far older than his twenty years.

His eyes were sad, and angry, and a blazing mix of so many emotions he couldn't read but was so damned sure they were all directed at him.

"I think you know why I'm here..." James spoke softly, though his voice seemed to reverberate around the room, making the hair on the back of Logan's neck stick up.

"I'm quite sure," the older brother replied, sitting slowly in an armchair and gesturing wanly to the chair opposite him. "You... you're free to sit, you know?"

And indeed he did, and Logan was able to take in his whole sorry appearance.

His clothing was torn from the fight. Blood stained it in the most worrying places; his stomach, his chest, and his legs. There seemed to be a mix of dirt and soot rubbed into the dark reddish brown patches covering him, and the stale stench of sweat and gunpowder filled his nose and made him heave slightly, something he was thankful he could repress and hide well before any notice of it was taken.

"Logan, I... I want to know why you did it."

And Logan tracked his own dark brown eyes up to meet the lighter ones of his brother. The pain was there, the betrayal, the hurt from the fact that Logan had been so cruel to him was shown so plainly that the eldest of the two felt his heart wrench and he longed in that instant – like he had in so many instants before that – to be able to do something, anything, and be able to right all the wrongs he'd committed. The request was simple, but to fully explain his motives and reasons and reasoning behind everything would take too long, much longer than they had in this one night.

How could he express all his actions to his brother who'd been so badly affected by them, and not make things worse for himself, if that were even possible.

He knew for a fact that he'd kept far too many secrets from his people, about the oncoming war with the Darkness he'd encountered years ago and so many more far trivial things in comparison to that one terrible thing, but he'd been far more deceptive to his brother. He knew the world outside the castle walls was cold and bare, people were starving and living torturous lives. He'd left a corrupt piratical villain in charge of the main source of Industry in the land and he'd allowed him to force children into work to earn pittance to take back to families. James hadn't knowns any of the plight in Mistpeaks, nor the trouble he'd sent the better part of his own army into in Mourningwood, and he'd been oblivious to the extent of the misery in his own city.

It was a crime unto itself, and he was wholly responsible.

"I don't think I can tell you, there's... there's so much. It's a shambles."

"You need to tell me. I- Logan I need you to tell me."

The hurt etched onto his face then and there was something that could have struck the eldest of the two down where he was. He knew the man was mourning for the loss of his love, best friend and childhood playmate, Elise. Little more than six months ago he'd forced him to pick between the lives of three citizens of Albion or the girl he loved and had told him oh so long ago he'd marry...

"Do you remember when I was a good King?" the elder man asked, looking into his brothers' eyes, piercing them with his own. "Do you?"

"_Logan! Logan, look!"_

_The young man turned his head and saw his nine year old brother jogging up the path to him, grinning ear to ear. His hair was unruly, tousled and dirty with leaves and twigs tangled in in knots. It made the young King chuckle to himself, reaching forward and ruffling the child's hair more to rid it of some of the greenery. A young girl about the same age as James, maybe a year younger came chasing after him. Her skirts were torn around the bottom and her cheeks were dirty and flushed. She looked flustered and upset, but there was a spark of childish excitement there that seemed more prominent than the prior showing emotions._

"_Your- your Highness," she said breathlessly, curtsying slightly before looking up expectantly to James. She nudged him a little, prompting him to show Logan what they'd found in the bushes. And James complied, opening his hands and extending them to Logan, showing them the baby bird they'd found._

"_Her wings' hurt," the child explained quickly, and Logan took note of how the chick seemed very lame, sitting still in the boys' hands and looking up at him, chirping weakly. "She needs some help, do you think you can help her?"_

_The chick was a young sparrow, which only made the King think of their recently late father. As his brother had turned nine and he himself reached seventeen his father had been struck ill in his age. He suffered several consecutive heart attacks and passed away within the week, and this terrible shock caused his already sickly mother to die. Walter had said it was probably the shock that caused her health to deteriorate, but Logan himself secretly thought it was more of a broken heart. His parents, despite their obvious differences, were soul mates. It wasn't possible for one to live without the other._

_He snapped himself out from his day dream and reached forward gently to take the baby bird from his brother. The thing instantly started chirping as it was unsettled, trying to get back to the child. Cupping his hands he kept the bird still, and after a tense moment it settled itself, looking up at him expectantly._

"_Can you do anything sir? We want her to get better," the girl said gently, her small hands tugging on his sleeve until he looked down into her pleading brown eyes, her little face framed by big looping chocolate curls. He couldn't say no to her, and when he looked at his brother staring at him similarly he knew he had to try something at the very least._

"_I'll take care of her. Just go and play while Walter and I sort something out," he said, and the pair let their faces split into identical huge smiled, and James whooped jumping up into the air, while the girl hugged him around his waist._

"_Thank you!" they cried, running away._

_He'd eventually been able to nurse the bird back to health with one of the maids' help, splinting it's wing with a very thin, inch long piece of bark and a strip of silk to act as a bandage. The creature wasn't happy with them, but after a while grew used to the attention it received and was more comfortable. The day the bird was well enough to take flight came and James helped it fly off while Elise – the girl his brother was so close to – started to cry, saying she didn't want it to go. Being useless around tearful girls himself, James had rushed to her side and pulled her into an embrace, calming her down and wiping her tears away._

_Tucking his younger brother into bed that evening after seeing the bird fly away into the sunset, Logan found himself smiling as his brother yawned and denied his sleepiness, claiming he wanted to play and it was still early._

"_You're going to go to sleep," Logan hushed him, tracing his index finger down the ridge of his brothers' nose slowly. The action caused James to close his eyes for a short while as he did the action, and the slower he did it, the longer his eyes were closed. It was something Logan had watched his mother do, and it was very effective. James yawned lengthily, turning over in his bed and pulling the blankets tightly around him._

"_I'm glad you made the sparrow better," he whispered, as the sandman stole him away to sleep._

"_I'm glad too," Logan replied softly, stroking his brother's hair out of his eyes._

"_So was Elise," the boy added, his eyes fluttering as he struggled to keep them open. "I really like her."_

"_I'd guessed as much," Logan replied softly with a slight chuckle, standing and smoothing the blankets down._

"_I'm going to marry her one day," James said with some definition in his voice, the smallest smile playing at his lips._

"Do you remember me when I was good, back then?" James nodded, looking curiously into his older brothers' sad face. "No matter what happens tomorrow... remember me as the man I was then, not the wreck I am now."

James nodded, before pausing and shaking his head slightly, "but you killed her Logan... how... how can I think good of you when you killed the woman I loved?"

Logan didn't have the heart to tell his brother that when he'd been taken – kicking and screaming – back to his room, he'd not actually sentenced anyone. He instructed his guards to take the three leaders of the protest outside and shoo them all away, and was left alone in the room with Elise, who glared angrily up at him, pain and anger flashing in those fierce brown eyes. He could remember taking small breaths, before telling her she would not die, but she would have to leave the castle and it's grounds, and return now to her family in Millfields. She was not allowed to say goodbye to James, and he would be led to believe she was dead.

He went as far as setting up a fake firing squad, so the gunshots echoed around the castle and James would be convinced of it.

It had been meant as a way to teach him that decisions could be hard if you were in a position of power, and oft times you had to help the majority of the people rather than the ones your loved. He knew what his brothers' choice would have been, seeing as the other three had consisted of an elderly man who had been very well respected in the castle some years ago when he worked there, a young woman who was heavily pregnant and a married man with four children waiting for him back home. It didn't take a scientist to work it out. But he should change the subject now, leave him to make his own decisions and not go racing off into the city to look for the woman who was alive and working down at the orphanage.

"It started five years ago. Do you remember when I went on a trip abroad?" Logan asked, leaning forward in his seat and clasping his hands together beneath his chin. James looked puzzled for a moment, but realisation dawned on his face and he nodded. Of course he knew, it was the one where he'd come back a changed man. Scared and intimidated and worried about what was coming for them, about the threats from over seas.

"I went to Aurora, as I know you have," Logan continued, then smiled slightly at the shocked look on his brothers' face. "I'm more perceptive than you think, James. I actually know a lot about your journey."

James looked as if he were about to speak, but he didn't. He kept his mouth shut and looked on imploringly, willing Logan to continue.

"I went to Aurora, on the word of a young man who came to Albion from there. He told me there was a monster plaguing their land, and he begged me for my help. I couldn't refuse him, so a hundred of my finest men and I travelled over their. We trailed across the desert, and found ourselves outside the ruins of... of... Avo knows what it was. But I should have just burnt it to the ground then and there."

"Shadelight," James whispered, and Logan found he could only nod silently. Memories replaying in his mind of that monster with long fangs extending from its very face, of the horrors he faced when he and barely a dozen of his men fled out into the desert. Of the harpy like creatures that ambushed them there, screaming as they rose from the sand itself and swooped down on them.

"That thing attacked us, it's 'children' appearing from all sides. Men were screaming, crying... I'd never seen a grown man revert mentally back to a child, but the things they screamed, and the torments-" he was hissing his words, pain spreading across his forehead like it often did when he recalled those nightmares, his hands balled into fists so tight that his nails were carving cuts into his palms. "Three quarters of my men fell in there, carried off into the shadows to their deaths. I can... I can still hear them," he hissed, clamping his eyes shut but seeing the terrified faces of his men, permanently etched into his eyelids.

"You got away though?" James asked, and Logan allowed himself to open his eyes briefly, peering into the pale face of the man sat before him. Standing slowly, Logan made his way to the window again, looking down. The fires were still burning. It looked as though they didn't want to be doused in water, to be fought back. They would always burn.

"I got away, yes."

"What happened then?"

"We... we were back in the desert, but it was wrong. It wasn't hot, it was cold in the middle of the day. The sun was high in the sky, burning us, but it was like ice..."

_After he and his remaining men had escaped from the temple, they'd been ambushed yet again. These were different creatures, shrieking and bursting from the sand. They were covered in bandages, wrapped like the mummies he'd learnt about in his childhood, the ones from ancient lands. Despite their shock, and horror, and the screams still reeling about their minds, his men were able to dispatch a flurry of bullets, and one by one the creatures fell dead. There was silence then, until a great booming laugh sounded around them... but it wasn't around them._

_It was inside their minds, shaking their joints and ripping their eardrums to pieces._

"_Men, quickly as we can," Logan called hoarsely, leading the way across the desert to the civilisation they knew lived just beyond the horizon. They travelled for hours it seemed, trudging slowly through the sands with the sun leeching the energy from them. The blasted thing never seemed to move though, never changed position, and Logan began wondering if something was playing tricks on them all._

"_Well aren't we a clever King?" a voice whispered from behind him, and in a whirl Logan had turned around, looking about wildly, but the only people there were his soldiers looking at him with matching startled expressions._

"_Sire-" started one man, but then a sudden shrieking started about them, deathly wails and yells of men in pain, in anguish, men who they had heard dying hours ago. Their screams filled the desert and faces swam in front of his eyes as he turned in circles, looking highly terrified._

_With a sudden burst the small party were running, running in any direction to try and escape the sound of death, but they couldn't. It followed them and then there was darkness, the sun had gone and instead they were pitched into night. It seemed to have been night for quite some time, but they hadn't known. That monster was far too powerful for them, far too deceptive and had the other worldly abilities to create hallucinations. That burning sensation they'd felt mere moments before had actually been their minds mistaking it for heat when they were in fact freezing._

"_You will perish in the Darkness," the voice whispered, turning Logan's legs to ice. "You will give in to the children... your light will go out."_

_They tried to continue moving, but fear paralysed them, and as Logan collapsed to the ground, landing face first in the sand and lying there, immobile, the voice whispering in his ears, he found that the more he accepted this fate, the quieter the voice became, and the less painful it all was._

_The overwhelming need to open his eyes pulled at him though, and with much reluctance and huffing he did, finding it more effort than it really should have been. He found right away that there was a dim light cast over him, and the air smelled cool and sweet. He could hear the soft murmur of people talking, their voices strange and foreign but gentle and kind. The lilts in their accent seemed to caress his ears after the screams from the desert, and he would have fallen asleep again if it hadn't been for the fact that he had no recollection of how he'd gotten here, which meant by reasons of logical deduction that he'd passed out and had been brought here by these people, these saviours, Avo only knew how long ago._

_Logan longed then to sit up and get a proper baring of his surroundings, but a pair of hands gently pressed against his chest, and a soft female voice whispered to him;_

"_Stay down, you must rest."_

_His eyes opened properly then, looking up into the doe like eyes of the woman above him. She was completely bald, but she was still the most strikingly beautiful woman he'd seen in all his years. Her lips were full and pouting, and painted a bright alluring red. Looking properly, her clothing only started from her bust downwards, long flowing materials covered her, leaving plenty of room for her to move about and stay cool._

"_Where am I?" he croaked, surprised at how dry his mouth suddenly felt._

"_You are in the city of Aurora... your men suffered a terrible fate I am afraid."_

"_The ones with me?" he asked, sitting up suddenly and barely missing crashing heads with the woman by inches. "Or the ones in that temple?"_

"_The ones in the temple, we found some of their bodies outside, but we dare not venture in. the men that were with you are recovering."_

_Despite her earlier warnings against sitting up Logan pushed himself to his elbows and peered around. The building they were in was made completely of stone. The walls merged with the ceiling and the ceiling with the pillars supporting it. The room had been carved into the stone. Like a very intricate and beautiful cavern. His men were lain out on padded stone slabs, cloths over their heads, cooling them. Only two of the twenty were awake and sat up, looking at him miserably._

"_Where have you come from?" the woman asked quietly, sitting on the slab beside him._

"_Albion," he replied, running his hand through his hair and wondering fleetingly where his shirt had gone. He was feeling rather uncovered in front of this woman, his scars from previous battles against various foes littered his body, and he very much liked the idea of dressing himself again. "I'm from a city called Bowerstone."_

"_Albion... we've heard tales of heroes from Albion," the woman noted quietly, and when Logan turned to look at her there was a small twinkle in her eye._

"_Yes. My father was a hero," Logan mused, wringing his hands._

"_Your father?" the woman chirped, sounding both shocked and pleased, "so that would make you a-"_

"_Not necessarily. If I was anything close to a hero I wouldn't have had any trouble with that... thing."_

"_Ah... but the Crawler is a terrible beast."_

"_The Crawler?" he asked, looking into her chocolate eyes. She nodded slightly. "My father dealt with a lot worse than that," he laughed._

"_I've heard," she said with a small smile._

_They sat in silence, musing about heroes to themselves, when she suddenly spoke up again._

"_My name is Kalin," she said quickly, looking to the floor. "My father is the chief here, he regularly sends patrols out to the desert to make sure the Crawler stays at bay, and nobody is hurt when they venture out for herbs for our medicines."_

"_So were were quite lucky then," Logan muttered, trying to cast aside the thoughts of the eighty odd men who'd perished out there._

"_You were, yes."_

"_I'm Logan, by the way. I'm the King of Albion, I came over here to try and help but I think we were grossly misinformed about the power of this thing."_

"_I believe so, Logan."_

_He looked up at her and saw sorrow in her eyes, her mouth at a slight downwards curve, indicating her sadness. She looked lost, worried and there was too much pressure on her, especially for someone her age. She couldn't have been past her mid twenties. He was about to say something when she spoke up, lifting her head and looking right into his eyes._

"_Will you help us?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "If you went back to Albion and prepared properly for the battle, would you come back and save my people?"_

_She looked broken, and lonely. And he could tell by the tone of her voice that her asking him was a last resort in their time of need. And she had saved his life, he was indebted to these people._

"_You have my word, I will come back and help your people."_

"And you didn't?" James asked, looking into the hearth where a fire was burning, warming them and drying the younger man's clothing as he'd been drenched in the torrential rain outside in his fight up here.

"Not long afterwards actually, I sent a messenger over with my sincere apologies, and of course she was very upset."

"You left her people to die," James pointed out.

"I had no other choice," Logan said, sitting unceremoniously back in the armchair and dropping his head into his hands. "I received... news."

This piqued James' interest and his head bobbed up, eyes focusing on Logan rather than the amber flames. For a second the eldest thought that he should have kept that a secret, but then he sighed... as future King, James would find out what was going on sooner or later.

"The Darkness you encountered in Aurora will one day come to Albion. The Crawler will attack here."

There was silence, then James scoffed slightly, looking away.

"You went to Aurora four years ago, and there's been no attack. It doesn't justify you turning into such a bastard."

"Theresa came to me shortly after I arrived back in Albion. She told me that it would come in five years. It's due next year," Logan replied icily, repressing the urge to scald his younger brother for swearing, though he didn't, because frankly he deserved every bit of bitterness and anger thrown his way. "I started to prepare, because gathering an army large enough to fight that thing and it's 'children' and save as many souls as possible isn't cheap."

"... I can imagine."

"I had to hand Industrial over to Reaver, I had to make cuts in guards and raise taxes, I had to scrimp and save every gold I could. I had to prove my power to people otherwise they wouldn't have paid, and then they would have ended up dead."

"You could have told them?" James suggested, scratching his head slightly and pushing his straggly hair back. It was Logans' turn to scoff, and he did.

"What? And have mass panic years before the Crawler was due to attack, only to have people become too relaxed about it when the time came? Do you actually think that would be worth the hassle?"

James was silent, before he slouched down in his seat and rubbed his cheek with his hand, looking stumped.

"There's a lot more to this that I first thought..." he mused, looking less than pleased. "I don't understand why you gave Reaver Industrial though, it can't be very profitable."

Logan shook his head, a wry smile on his face.

"_I hear the Kingdom is in a weensy bit of trouble, my King," Reaver said with a smile, in his terribly frustrating sing-song voice._

"_And where did you hear that?" Logan asked, lifting his head slightly from his arm and looking up at the man. Logan knew of the Hero's past, knew he was several hundred years old and he was a very shady character indeed. He did often manage to avoid these instances, avoid meetings with the man, because from a very young age he'd disliked the man a great deal. Currently he was sitting at his desk trying to figure out numbers for how many people there were in Albion at that point, what the perspective birth rates were and the death rates. That way he'd be able to project the population over the next few years and figure out how many soldiers he'd need to protect the masses, therefore how much money he'd need top save._

_Reaver was a pointless distraction at this point._

"_Oh, a little birdy told me," Reaver chirped, waving his hand about dismissively, perching on the side of the desk and picking up some papers, flicking through them._

"_They're private you know," Logan groaned, making a mental note to find out who let the git in and fire them... though that would hardly improve his status at this point, he'd just raised taxes and a lot of people had it out for him already._

"_So anyway," Reaver continued, completely ignoring Logan. "Seeing as we have such a terrible entity heady our way, and we have pitiful funds in the treasury, you could probably do with some help."_

"_Are you offering to donate some money, Reaver?" the young Royal asked, not bothering to get his hopes up, knowing what the reply would be._

"_Oh, goodness no," the man laughed, throwing his head back dramatically and guffawing. He laughed for a few minutes, as if Logan had said the most amusing thing he'd ever heard. "Oh, no no no... No I'm actually here to propose something fundamentally ground-breaking. I can both help you raise money for your precious little army, and I can get hundreds into work and off the streets!"_

_For a moment Logan found himself considering this, but then he remembered who was sat before him offering this prospect, and the king knew there would be some terrible catch to this, knowing a lot of people would be very upset._

"_What is it?" he asked slowly, and the look on Reaver's face was one that implied he thought he had the King in the palm of his hand._

"_Well, quite simply we have a few people employed in factories in Industrial don't we? However, the factories aren't very productive, and if we were to increase productivity we would have to employ more people. I suggest we then employ... children."_

_And Logan felt his jaw drop, felt his body stiffen and anger boil in his veins. This was appalling and preposterous, and downright despicable._

"_Never!" he shouted, standing abruptly and taking the other man by surprise, something hard to do._

"_You don't want to help your citizens?" the other asked, recovering remarkably quickly._

"_Of course I do but I'm not about to endorse child labour, that's criminal," Logan flustered, storming over to the door and flinging it open wide. He gestured to it, pointing angrily. "Now get out of my sight."_

_He watched the evil man stand ever so slowly, his moves calculated to ensure he had exactly what he wanted. His dark brown eyes bore into the acidic green ones, both holding steady and both filled with contempt for the other. Reaver was the first to break eye contact, but his overall air of smugness made the King seethe, and he pointed again, not saying a word, but his actions spoke loud enough._

_Reaver strolled over, not looking at all phased by the reaction Logan had given him, and his body language said he wasn't really that bothered. He paused by the door, looking briefly over his shoulder, a smirk plastered right across his face._

"_You'll have to realise sooner or later that you can't be benevolent and keep them alive... you'll need my help eventually."_

Silence consumed the room then, as both men sat thinking about the terrors that had plagued Bowerstone since Logan had passed Industrial over to him. It couldn't be denied that Reaver had managed to make a serious profit from using child workers, and that it had helped the treasury substantially. But the cost of it was just too great, and Logan reminisced on how he had regretted the decision before it had been made.

"So you decided to forsake Aurora and handed Industrial over to one of the most corrupt individuals in Albion. Did it never occur to you that you had to change at some point? That this was the wrong thing to do?"

"Oh, I didn't have to be told... I knew from the very start, but I couldn't see an alternative."

"You do realise you're confessing to crimes here?" James sighed slightly, looking at his brother pitifully. "You're not helping your case..."

"I didn't intend to give you the impression I was trying to get myself out of this, I was merely telling you why I've done what I've done."

James sighed again, dejected and miserable. He swung his feet up and slouched down in his chair, propping them up on the coffee table and making himself comfortable, pulling a cushion to his chest and hugging it there.

"Go on then, what else have you done?"

Logan chuckled slightly, marvelling in the sheer stupidity of the question. He'd committed many a crime, but thinking in chronological order of the ones that had affected his brother too, his mind strayed to the Dwellers.

"About three years ago I stopped sending aid to the Dweller Tribe," he said quietly, standing again and ignoring the aches in his knees, the small cracking sounds when they clicked. He wandered about the room, taking to his desk again that had a very detailed plan of every place his brother had been. The camp was the first place James had been spotted when he'd left the castle, before he'd travelled to Brightwall and then gone to defeat mercenaries. If he'd thought his exploits up North would have gone unnoticed by his older brother, he'd been sadly mistaken. Word travelled fast of the young prince who was rising against his brother. Logan's soldiers often offered to go and apprehend the younger man, and bring him in, but of course Logan had always objected to this, wanting to see how far his brother would go to try and bring peace and prosperity to Albion, and how he would prove himself as a man. He'd done incredibly well, and Logan wanted to let him know that, but James would have only questioned him as to why Logan hadn't had him arrested in one of the many towns he ventured through. "And I closed the Brightwall Academy around that time too. So both dwellings became secluded from the outside world. People would rarely venture through, and so they had to fend for themselves.. I don't suppose this helped me in any way. It only led to people hating me more than ever."

"_But my King, Brightwall is suffering terribly now due to your actions, and it hasn't even been a quarter!"_

_Logan huffed slightly and shook his head. Sam came at least twice a month since he'd shut the Academy to the public, begging for him to reconsider. And he desperately wanted to, thinking it was a great dishonour to his own father who set up the Academy to try to help the public and encourage education. It was a free service to the people, but it had to be paid by the Crown. And the Crown didn't have any money to spare._

"_I understand that these four months have been difficult Samuel, but the people of Brightwall just need time to adjust to the situation. You can promote agriculture to the people of your town, and you can fend for yourself from now on."_

"_And how will that help my people then?" piped up a voice, and Logan turned his head grudgingly to the old face of Sabine, the Elder of the Dwellers. Sabine was a man of strong will, and even stronger words. His people, by tradition, were very peaceful, living in harmony with nature and the Earth. They took shelter in clearings of thick forests, and set up their camp in the middle of a valley, using the cliffs as a wind breaker to keep the chill out, and as shelter from the snow. From what Logan was aware, they had hot springs around the camp too, and that helped greatly when it came to bathing and attracting outside attention from people who believed the springs had healing abilities._

"_Perhaps you can trade with one another?" Logan sighed, rubbing his temple with his index finger. He was beginning to get a headache._

"_Trade what?" the older man barked. "My people have nothing now. We made our money by renting out our homes to people who came for the springs, and we bought food with that. The Mistpeaks are too dangerous to send hunting parties out since you've stopped culling the Balverines, and mercenaries are running rampant! What in the name of Skorm are we supposed to do?"_

"_Sabine your people are very resilient, you've always found ways to survive and I'm sure you'd do it again if needs be," Logan snapped back, trying to ignore the dull throb behind his eyes that was blinding him. "My decision is final, you may go."_

_It wasn't so much an invitation as a formal dismissal, reinforced by the guards who stood forward to usher the two men out of the throne room. They were too shocked to move for a moment, and being dismissed so rudely didn't bode well with Sabine, who turned sharply on his heels and started to stride out, his head held proud. Logan just stood up when the old man stopped, turning to look back at the tired King._

"_Logan... you have sentenced your people to death. Men, women and children... and you don't care, do you?"_

_Logan stared back at the man, both pairs of brown eyes meeting. Sabine's were cold and hard, angry. While Logan's were tired and full of remorse. But he couldn't express it, he couldn't appear weak, so he kept up the indifferent façade._

"_I have not sentenced my people to death, Sabine. You are their Elder, and if you deem your current living condition unsuitable then you should move your tribe. You have sentenced them yourself if you do not do so."_

"_Why I-! You... you have made yourself an enemy today, my **King**..."_

_The way he sneered the last word told Logan the old man was deadly serious, and would have gone running after him to try and negotiate something if it weren't for the fact his vision was blurring, and his stomach churned._

_As the doors closed on the backs of the angry men, Logan slumped over to the floor, shaking fitfully. He could vaguely remember feeling someone lift him, and then he slipped into unconsciousness._

"The pressures of being King were killing me..." Logan muttered, his voice very sombre and serious. James was staring at him wide eyed as he listened, his mouth slightly agape. He could only imagine it was the realisation that he had been so unwell and now this crushing responsibility was on him. "I barely slept. That Crawler gave me nightmares. It haunted my every waking moment and plagued me in my sleep. It drew the energy from me, made me feel helpless... made me do unthinkable things. My soul was tainted after I met it, it blackened me..."

"You can't blame all of this on the Crawler..." James whispered, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You don't know yet, James. When you're making decisions that will affect the lives of your people, there's that voice hissing in the back of your mind. Your conscience can't win it..."

"I'm a stronger man than you."

"I don't doubt you."

There was another silence settle on them then. Rain pelted the window, sounding heavy and sharp, rattling the panes of glass as if threatening to come in. Every drop sounded sharp as a dagger, as if was just another thing that wanted him dead. He was barely surprised as he approached the glass and the wind whistled past, loud and angry. Thunder boomed across the sky, and he looked down upon the town to see complete darkness. The fire had gone out, and with it went all the resistance in Bowerstone. This was the storm. The calm would come as soon as the country had rid of him.

He knew what it was to want to be rid of something so much. It was a slight relief when you had the chance to overcome something, get it out of the way. He'd had several similar circumstances. However his generally led to death and misery...

"I sent Swift and his Brigade to Mourningwood... I knew they'd be out of the way for a long time..."

"_We're going where, Sire?" Swift asked in disbelief._

"_You're sending them where, Sire?" Walter repeated, the same tone of disbelief recognisable in his voice._

"_Mourningwood," Logan replied simply, sifting through his papers. "The Eco-Warriors there have been complaining about being swamped by Hollow Men, and I'd like you to do something about it."_

"_So... are we relocating them?" Swift asked slowly._

"_Lord no, they won't let you..." Logan muttered. "I've suggested that to them and they laughed in my face."_

"_The surely, surely, they realise they've let themselves in for this?" Swift asked, sounding completely stunned by the fact people were being so awkward about this._

"_Probably, but you're here to protect the people Swift, so you'd ought to set off soon..."_

_There was a pause, and Swift took a short breath before replying much more sharply;_

"_And how long should we stay there sir?"_

"_Until you've gotten rid of the Hollow Men," Logan replied, glancing up from his paperwork to see Swift looked very red in the face, a sure sign of anger bubbling up. His impressively large moustache bristled, before he chocked out a very bitter;_

"_But it's a graveyard. They've settled on a graveyard. There's a never ending supply of Hollow Men."_

_Logan sat back in his chair, clasping his hands together, looking up at the two men who were staring at his in shock and horror. He hated doing this, sending Swift off, and angering Walter too. These men had been around him since he was a small child, helping raise him and teaching him wrong from right as they always did. Jack Swift was like an uncle to him, treating him to sweets when he was very young even when his parents had said no to him themselves and getting him out of trouble with a wave of his and and a jovial word. Walter had trained him, made him a brilliant swordsman and sharpshooter. He'd been like a father to him when his own father was away on quests and when his parents had passed away Logan hid been the only person Logan was confident would keep things secret, and for two days spent his time sobbing into the older man's shoulder, mourning his losses._

_But he hated seeming weak, hated the fact that he had all that time ago, and pursed his lips while he thought of the many things he could say._

"_You'll be there a while then."_

"The next thing I knew, I was receiving word off a soldier stations near Mourningwood that the Brigade... what was left of it, anyway, was leaving the woods, heading back to town. Then Swift was here trying to convince soldiers to join the rebellion..."

"And you killed him," James spat. "I know, I watched..."

"I thought that was you in the crowd."

"Did you even care? Or were you not bothered?"

"Of course I cared!" Logan snapped, turning on his brother and glaring fiercely down into his face. "How could I not hate myself for having the man I grew up respecting and revering killed? Do you think it was an easy decision? But if I had let him go free then it would have given the view that I didn't care. I couldn't have people thinking they could just rise against me or-"

"Or you'd have lost your throne?" James snipped back, standing up and glowering back at Logan. "You did a fine job with that one didn't you?"

"I knew I wasn't long for the throne as soon as you, Walter and Jasper ran off. I knew what you intended to do, and I knew you'd be able to do it. Why do you think Samuel let you into the Reliquary? Why do you think you weren't apprehended when you wandered about in broad daylights in the market place?"

"I-" James tried to shout over him, but the ferocity on Logan's face made him shut up and shrink back into the sofa.

"You have been utterly stupid on your travels, James. People have noticed you and spotted you, and I have had so many stories come back to me of your whereabouts and have had to stop people capturing you... You should have stayed low."

"I did when I got to the Rebellion headquarters," James muttered, sulking as he accepted what he'd been told was true.

"The one in the sewers of Industrial? Oh I knew all about that too. Reaver isn't a stupid man and he spotted them months ago, and came to tell me all about it. Every person who went in and out, every face he had memorised. He could point out my own servants who were leaking information back, the guards who had defected, the people down in town who supplied them with food. It wasn't as secret as they let on."

James took this information in, gaping as he realised how precarious the situation had been, and how his elder brother could have – at any point in time – just taken over the rebellion and had them all done away with.

"Why... why didn't you stop them?" the younger asked quietly, standing again and joining his brother at the window, looking through the torrents of rain down onto the dark silhouette of their city.

"I knew Walter was passing information to them, so if I had them all seized he would have been in trouble too."

"Is that all?"

"Not exactly..."

"_Oh, yes Majesty, see how they're going in through that door beside that rather grotesque bar?"_

"_I see them," Logan said quietly, watching from one of the higher doors on the nearest workhouse to the entrance to what could be the resistance headquarters. "I need a closer look though, they could just be sewage workers."_

"_I highly doubt that," Reaver scoffed, but he remained looking bemused as he had done for the past hour as he checked over the King's ensemble. "So... you're planning what again?"_

"_I'm planning to at least get close enough to hear something... if I can I'll try to slip in and find a place to hide."_

"_Providing, of course, they don't spot you and lop off your pretty royal head," the tycoon chuckled._

"_There is that minor factor..."_

"_Minor?! My dear King, I believe it would be a rather big deal if you lost your head at a time like this," and with that, he burst out laughing at his own wit, leaving Logan to sigh and skahe his head before he walked away and pulled his hood up._

_He looked, and smelled, like a beggar. Reaver had been in on his plan from that start, being the only person who would be able to watch and stop people killing him if needs be, and surprisingly the only person who wouldn't breathe a word because quite frankly he found the whole situation to be too funny to let slip about it. To make everything seem more realistic, Reaver had chucked him into the canal of foul smelling whatever it was, and chortled as Logan splashed his way out swearing and threatening him. It did the job however, and he smelt positively poor... so to speak. He'd known quite a few wealthy politicians in his time who neglected to bathe and smelt far more rotten._

_He'd also managed to acquire shabby clothing. Torn brown pants, dirtied and bloodied from Avo only knew what. An old white shirt that was more grey and black than white, with large sweat stains under the pits. Logan was sure Reaver had just robbed another beggar blind, and he felt quite ill putting this clothing on. It was a step up from the canal though._

_Lastly was his hood and cape, which he could draw about him and hide himself. He had no footwear, no other source of warmth, and his only meagre disguise was the dirt he rubbed into his face and the hair he let down in front of his eyes, hopefully stopping other people recognising him. He'd let his stubble grow and even if someone did suspect he wasn't where he was meant to be, nobody would think it was the King hobbling about Industrial._

_Wrapping himself in his cloak, he set off, walking slowly through the smog filled air and the damp streets, past other beggars who looked up at his wearily with some hint of understanding. Everyone was down and out, and there was a mutual sympathy with one another. Logan felt guilt wrap him, and pulled his cloak tighter, as if trying to block it out. He came to the bridge beside the pub and crossed it, taking note that there was one guard outside the door, but he was pissed as a fart._

_He crossed and took the alley down the far side of the pub, doubling back until he was stood directly above the door to the rebellion. He looked up to the workhouse and saw Reaver idling about on the balcony, the glint of a pistol in his hand. Call him what he would, the man was true to his word once he gave it, and though he might be debaucherous, cynical, and a criminal by most standards, he was – in a twisted way – honest. He'd promised his father Sparrow he'd keep an eye on his boys (though Sparrow hadn't asked him on any occasion to do so) and he hadn't left Bowerstone since. It was probably to get his foot in the door to power, but he hadn't done much other than take Industrial, which Logan would have back off him sooner or later._

_The was a thumping sound, which snapped Logan's attention back to the current situation at hand, and he saw the man below had passed out cold on the spot, too drunk to keep conscious._

_He dropped then from above, landing outside the door and opening it slowly to slip through it. He made his way slowly through the tunnel, noticing another door to his right that led to a room where a little light was emitting. He crouched down beside a pile of broken and splintered wood, nesting himself in it so he blended in, pulling his cloak up so he was thoroughly hidden and camouflaged._

"_So Page is gonna get us to fire bomb the main gates?" Logan heard one man sigh... and his breath hitched slightly._

"_That's gonna ge'us arrested an' hung that is," another man growled._

_He couldn't believe Page was being so careless with her men. It was probably a way to coax him into the open for some direct assault, though he wasn't scared. Logan had heroes blood in him, and he considered himself quite skilled with a pistol. He went hunting years ago with Reaver and matched him shot for shot in skill, difficulty and accuracy. Instead of being angry Reaver only laughed and pointed it out, but did mention backhandedly how Logan would be dead and then Reaver would remain the best, as he always had. Besides the fact that he was gifted with a small amount of will, it wouldn't be hard to defend himself._

"_She want's us to piss him off I think," the first man stated, when a third voice came in._

"_It's a suicide mission, we can't do it," he said, and t was then Logan recognised the person as Lieutenant Vespers for the Elite Guards. It made him slightly annoyed, but he expected nothing less. The man continued, "besides, he'd recognise me. I can't get involved."_

"_You know, I think she wants him to recognise you. It'd make him more paranoid and he wouldn't know who to trust, so he'll become more of an easy target."_

"_He's a powerful man, he could take any of us in a fight-"_

"_You're shittin' us, Mack!" the second man laughed. It was definitely Mackenzie Vespers, it was definitely him._

"_I'm not! He might look sickly but he practices his shooting and his swordsmanship every morning before dawn, and he's even got a hand in will. He'd kill us before we got close."_

_There was silence..._

"_Well shit, we're in for it aren't we?"_

_Logan took his leave then, standing and hurrying for the exit, knowing enough about the whereabouts of the rebellion base and their more recent plans._

_He went home to bathe, and the next morning noticed how Vespers kept looking towards the door when he was dealing with war matters in the throne room._

"_Somewhere to go Lieutenant?" he asked calmly, noticing how Vespers jerked in shock and stared at him wide eyed._

"_S'cuse me sir?" he asked hoarsely. "I don't, no."_

"_Oh... it's just with you looking at the door and all," Logan said with a small smirk on his face, watching the man sweat._

"_No, no sir. I just have an uneasy feeling in my stomach is all."_

"_Is that so? Something you want to tell me about?" Logan asked, standing slowly and walking towards the man. To his credit he didn't falter, just stared back and composed himself into his usual sturdy demeanour._

"_I don't think so sir..." he replied, and though he looked confident, his voice trembled slightly._

"_Ah, okay then. Just to let you know Lieutenant, I've stationed extra men down by the gates today, I had an uneasy feeling myself this morning, you see. Some bewildering dream last night about the gates being bombed."_

_The colour drained from Vespers' face, and then there was an almighty banging sound as the doors were flung open and two men were dragged in, kicking and yelling, by the guards._

"_Sire! These men were foind lurking by the main gates with these," and the guards passed a bag over to Logan, which contained a dozen or more petrol bombs, rags stuffed in the tops of bottles to set fire to. "We believe they were attempting to start a siege on the castle."_

"_They didn't do very well, did they?" Logan chuckled, a genuine happiness bubbling inside him._

_The two men cast quick glances to Vespers, who remained stony faced but the angst in his eyes was easily readable. Logan decided to see how far he could play this out, ordering the guards to deposit the men in front of the throne as he sat down, and called Vespers to his side._

_He gave the men a long look, noting how they were only in their early twenties, if that. It was very cruel of Page to send them in for this knowing the possible consequences, when they had their whole lives before them. The first man was trembling, but he kept eye contact, while the second man looked away, then fleetingly to Vespers._

"_What do you think we should do with them, Lieutenant?"_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_What's the policy for treason?" he asked, his voice a hiss. There was silence and he could almost hear the haggard breath of the trembling man. He felt sorry for him. Vespers gulped slightly, licking his dry lips as he answered in a voice barely above a whisper;_

"_Death, sir."_

"_I see... and what made you two young men plan such a thing?"_

_There was no reply from the man who was avoiding eye contact, but the shaking man spoke up, sounding petrified._

"_We were put up to it," he started, but Logan cut him off._

"_By whom?"_

"_By... by-"_

"_Page? Did the rebellion leader put you up to this. Thinking she could get into my head and make me think the worst of the people around me? Did she plan this in her hideout in Industrial?"_

_The room fell silent, and Logan could have heard a pin drop. Vespers and the two young men looked shocked, horrified._

"_Did she make you?" he asked, his voice a lot softer, a lot gentler and kinder._

"_Yes, yes sir," the man answered, still shaking but much more violently._

"_Then this is her crime, not yours. The only thing you've got to worry about now is your sheer stupidity. Captain, take these men back to where you find them. Obviously I shall keep the bombs, and you two would do well to keep your business to yourself, and not get tangled in a mess like this. I'm sure young men like yourselves are more bothered about starting families with pretty young women, not involving yourself in the terrible business of politics. Now go... and for the love of Avo, if you do return to Page tell her not to send you on a stupid mission like this again."_

_Astounded, it took a moment for the men to realise that they'd been left off the hook, but when it clicked, it clicked, and they couldn't have thanked Logan enough for his kindness and generosity. Once they were safely out of the doors, he looked to Vespers._

"_That was a very kind thing you did sir," he said in awe, looking both shocked and impressed._

"_I'm not always a bad man," Logan chuckled. "Oh, and one more thing. Remember that I have eyes everywhere and I know what's going on... use a different door from now on, it's a bit too obvious."_

"So you let them off?" James asked in awe, the smallest smile on his face as he took in the fact that his brother wasn't all bad.

"I did. Vespers disappeared not long after that and I'm sure he went into hiding in the sewers, knowing I knew his involvement. He probably thought that I was having a good day, and any other time I'd change my mind and have him flogged and shot."

"Would you have done that?"

"I think you know now, James, that I wouldn't have. I wouldn't do that again, not since-"

"Aurora."

"Precisely."

The last of the embers were burning out in the fireplace, and it turned out that the accumulated memory lane trips, conversations and periods of extended thoughtful silence had seen them through to morning.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" James asked quietly, as the pair of them looked out of the window to see the dim rays of morning light breaking over the horizon.

Realising this could be his last real conversation with his brother, the man who could side with the cries of the people and condemn him to death, he thought he should say everything. How he'd failed as a brother and there was no way on this Earth he could ever say sorry enough, even if he had the rest of his life to live. How he wanted to say how his parents would have been proud of him for going for the greater good, how he was a strong young man who would be a good ruler.

How he wanted to beg for life, beg for forgiveness... but it was too late, and he'd done so much wrong it would be ignorant of him to expect any more from the boy.

He wanted to tell him where to find Elise... that she had sent letters to Logan every day begging for some information as to the young man's whereabouts because she was one of the few people who knew Logan was tracking him.

Most of all... he wanted to ask to see one more sunrise and one more sunset. Just to be able to sit and marvel in the beauty of the world without worrying about it's oncoming end...

"Logan?" James whispered, laying a hand on his older brothers' shoulder and shaking him from his trance gently. Carefully. He was being too nice to him, considering that he was due to be crowned today and try Logan later this afternoon.

"I have too much to tell you James," he said gently, turning to his younger brother and smiling bitterly. "I can't possibly tell you everything I should have these past years in the space of a few hours."

"You could try, there's some time," the man argued, but Logan shook his head.

He was watching the dregs of smoke unfurled up towards the sky over the Old Quarter, and in his mind he could hear the screams and cries of people. Those men he'd led into the Darkness' cavern, the people who'd been killed needlessly down in town last night, the cries of people suffering in poverty when there was no need for them to be.

The door behind them opened and a dishevelled and very angry looking Captain Finn walked in, glowering at Logan before turning to James.

"We need to get you dressed up for this coronation, Walter and Jasper say so. Besides, there's hundreds of people out there cheering for you."

James nodded slightly, then turned back to Logan, opening his mouth slightly as if to say something to his older brother in parting, but before he could utter a single word the Captain spoke up again.

"They're also calling for his death," he said bluntly, and Logan felt his heart skip a beat while James paled ever so slightly. Siding against the people would anger them and what was the point in overthrowing a King if only to let him get away with all he did?

"Ben, I... can I have a moment with him?" James asked quietly.

"... Sure," he replied, looking puzzled but leaving anyway.

James hesitated but turned to Logan, looking for the first time since he'd burst through the doors in the throne room, scared. There was something beneath those warm brown eyes of his that indicated sadness, fragility and there was still a childish glint there that told Logan he wasn't ready for all he'd been thrown into, though he'd shown outstanding aptitude in his task.

"I don't want to..." he said quietly, and then they were not enemies as they had been these years, not strangers, but brothers again, and without so much as a word James stepped forward and pulled Logan into a somewhat awkward embrace, and with a quiet cough Logan knew he was trying his damnedest to stop crying.

"I deserve everything I have coming for me, James. You need to do what's right by the people, and if that means putting me out of the picture then so be it. They deserve a fresh start, and you deserve the respect of the people-"

"Even if it's ill gotten?"

Logan chuckled a little, in spite of himself, "It won't be though. I may be your brother but I've also been the cause of most of your troubles. I'll die tomorrow for Albion, but I will still be here for as long as I'm remembered. If only positively by one person, then that's enough for me. It's a kindness I don't deserve."

"You're not a bad man," James muttered, sulking again.

"I have been," Logan corrected him, but James wasn't sated.

"You did it for a reason," he retorted.

"But I didn't let people know. It's not so much the fact I've committed crimes against the people, it was the fact that I didn't respect them enough to tell them what I was doing. I didn't give them the right to know what their lives were leading to."

James went to answer back, but the look Logan gave him made him shut his mouth again, and stay quiet. Instead, they clasped their hands together and shook once firmly, keeping eye contact and nodding respectfully to the other.

As James turned and started to leave, Logan felt the need to speak up.

"Our parents would be proud of you," he chirped up, "I know I am."

James paused and turned to Logan, his face breaking into a large smile, "Thanks," he said before turning again and leaving the room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Left alone in the silence, with only the roar of a joyous crowd outside the castle to break the deathly silence, the tired man turned around and walked slowly to his desk. Sitting at the chair he pulled a piece of paper close to him and dabbed the quill in the ink pot before starting to write, explaining everything as best he could in what short time he had left. His death was sealed, he was just occupying the time between when he'd meet his maker and the here and now. Once the letter was done, simplified as best he could make it and explaining all the smaller details, of James' long lost love's whereabouts and all the things he should have said when he had time, he left it there ans got up and walked to his bed. He stripped himself of his royal attire. His breastplate, his gauntlets, sashes, his boots, his silver buckled belt.

When completely bare besides his underpants, Logan proceeded to adorn simpler clothing. Plain black pants, not the rich cotton and leather ones he'd had before. A simple white shirt, or at least the simplest he could find. It was still a soft cotton, but it had no decoration, no silk thread embroidering it. He pulled on black boots, a simple black leather belt with a stainless steel buckle, no gloves, no decoration. He'd go before Albion a man stripped down to the basic amenities, and he'd bare his soul to them all if it could help sway a few people.

Then horns sounded outside, muted and dull at first, and bells rang through the air and the coronation procession was played as James took the crown and became King of Albion. The crowds roared fully to life, screaming and cheering.

The sound would have deafened him, should have, but it seemed dull... mourning... dead. His heart beat more rapidly and he felt his breath hitching and coming in shorter gasps as panic wrapped around his heart and lungs and stopped him thinking or feeling.

This celebration for his brother, this song of praise was the indication of the beginning of the end for him, the trumpets and drums seemed slow and muted, droll and sinister. This was the start of his Requiem.


End file.
